


molecular

by sarcangel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, HOLY SHIT THERE ARE SO MANY ZOMBIE TAGS, M/M, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, i fear zombies so this is pretty not-apocalpysy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: The team pushes into the lab, jostling each other through the sliding glass doors. Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. There they are, the four of them, present and accounted for. Louis shoves his way in last, looking sweaty and triumphant, and the hand around Zayn’s heart finally unclenches.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 36





	molecular

**Author's Note:**

> for my anon, who wanted some zombie apocalypse zouis. this is way late and i'm legitimately very scared of zombies so probably not exactly what you're looking for but i LOVED working on this and i haven't felt like that for a while so thank you <3 <3 <3

They get back fifteen minutes after they should have, just when panic’s starting to ooze through Zayn’s chest, a cold cracked egg. Fifteen minute’s not that late, but there’s a lot that can go wrong out there, regardless of immunity. They might all be immune to the virus, but no one’s immune to attack. He grabs the medical kit out of the lab closet, just in case. If he sits there and strokes it, hands shaking slightly on the smooth white plastic, traces the outline of the red cross like a map, at least there’s no one here to give him shit about it. 

Two minutes later the door alarm sounds, jolting through Zayn, followed by the soft ping of the deactivation sequence, and then the airlock hums and distant laughter splits the buzzing silence of the lab, and he can let go of the first aid kit and breathe again.

“Honey, we’re hoooome,” someone yells, echoey down the hallway. It sounds like Harry but it’s hard to tell, the way relief’s still thudding through Zayn’s skull.

The team pushes into the lab, jostling each other through the sliding glass doors. _ Eenie, meenie, miney, mo_. There they are, the four of them, present and accounted for. Louis shoves his way in last, looking sweaty and triumphant, and the hand around Zayn’s heart finally unclenches.

“Look Zaynie,” Niall singsongs, “we brought you something.” He’s got a biohazard bag dangling from his hand; it’s hard to tell what’s inside the pink plastic but Zayn would bet anything it’s a hand or a foot based on its weight and the way it swings in his hand when he reaches out to take it.

_ You’re late, _Zayn wants to respond. It’d feel good to give voice to the edge of panic still cutting through him, sawing into his lungs. But he’s the senior analyst out here, and he can’t lose it in front of his team. “How was it out there?” he asks instead, working hard to keep his voice casual. It’s mostly successful.

He can feel Louis’ eyes on his face, blunt and curious - of course, after two tours together, Louis knows when something’s not quite right. So he doesn’t look at Louis, though his eyes want to perform a full examination, _ right now _, an inventory of Louis’ fingers and toes and eyelashes - to verify he’s really okay, whole and unscathed; he twists the bag around his hand and looks at Liam, instead.

“It was...different,” Liam says, taking his time to answer the question. Not like Harry would take his time, thank god - but Liam wants to get things right, and answering Zayn’s questions falls into that category. “We tried to get a full count, but, well. When we got to Sherman Hill, it was empty. Like, emptied out.”

Zayn risks a glance at Louis, finally. He’s focused on Liam and nodding along.

“Then we got downtown,” Harry jumps in. “And there was a whole group of them, lining up along the river. Not moving, like…” He trails off, scratching at his neck. “Just standing there, in a line. Hundreds, probably--”

“Three hundred and nineteen,” Niall supplies. He’s leaned against Harry’s side, entering data into his hand-held. “The entire known population of River Bend, Sherman Hill, and downtown, based on our most recent census results.”

“Shit,” Zayn says. “That _ is _ different.”

“Like Liam said,” Louis finally speaks up. “Something’s going on.” He meets Zayn’s eyes as he says it, and the grim set of his eyes makes Zayn’s stomach turn over, and not in the good way. They’ve seen too much together; if Louis is worried, there’s reason to be. But Louis grins and turns to the team. “Good work out there, lads. Think we’ve earned our showers today.” 

A cheer goes up. They don’t get full showers too often in the field; mostly dry soap and disinfectant.

“Got you a foot, even,” Harry’s cheerful about it, slinging his arm around Niall’s neck and leading him out of the lab. 

“Thanks.” Zayn hefts the bag in his hands and watches them file out. Louis hesitates before he goes, looking back at Zayn - but Zayn shakes his head. “Later,” he says. And Louis leaves.

When it happened for real, it wasn’t like the movies, though no one’s making zombie films anymore. Too soon, probably; forever is probably too soon. It happened in Des Moines of all places, ground zero, and they caught it right away - blocked the roads, downed the planes, and set up a quarantine zone faster than the government did anything, ever, in those days. 

It helped that the virus was hard to transmit -- it took several bites to transmit enough viral load to fully infect the host -- and also incredibly deadly. Most of those bitten either weren’t bitten enough and fought off the virus, or they were bitten just the right amount - and died. And once they were dead they stayed dead, though their bodies were burned anyway, just to make sure. Very few survived -- if you could call it survival, what they became -- and they were slow, and dumb, and easy to kill or contain. 

Still, people died. Lots of people. People Zayn knew, though no one he knew well. They died inside of Des Moines, outside of Des Moines - like any pandemic, stretching its fingers to shadow the globe. After containment came inoculation; after incolulation came debate. Should the remaining infected be destroyed, or studied? Was there a chance of restoring the infected to health, or at least humanity? What if the virus returned or evolved, or struck another, non-human population? There were too many questions. So centers were set up within the containment zones, and teams were sent to the centers to study those who remained, and to study the virus, and to stare down their own humanity, fragile enough that a saliva-borne agent could snatch it away.

After dinner, they all watch Shrek in the common area, and Zayn lets himself sit closer to Louis than he normally would, under the pretense of avoiding Harry’s elbows. It’s a mistake. This close, he can feel the heat evaporating off of Louis, smell the soap lingering on Louis’ skin every time he moves, and it’s impossible to get comfortable. It’s always like this, but today’s scare makes it harder to not reach out, not touch the edge of Louis’ wrist or the cut of his cheek; it twists up inside of him, an aching mess, and Zayn has to sit on his hands before he does something dumb. 

Louis nudges him a few minutes in, anyway, and leans over to talk in his ear. It sucks, but no one wants to bear Niall’s wrath, talking too loud during a movie. “All right?” he asks, and his breath skates over Zayn’s ear, and Zayn’s pretty sure that his whole body shudders.

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn mutters back. “Sick foot you brought me, today.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, hot against Zayn’s neck, and sits back. He’s closer to Zayn now, though, their shoulders brushing together as he gets settled. And a few minutes later Louis shifts again, his legs this time, and presses the entire length of his thigh along Zayn’s, and it’s just. It’s all Zayn can do to make it through the rest of the movie, the warmth from Louis’ leg traveling through him in waves. 

Zayn gets up as soon as he can at the end credits, faking a yawn. “Been a big day, boys,” he says. “Think I’m for bed.”

“Aww,” Liam pouts. “We didn’t even make popcorn yet.”

“Sorry. There’s always tomorrow, innit?” Zayn pats him on the top of the head as he walks by. 

Zayn’s sleeping room is by the lab, which is in the opposite direction of everyone else’s room, and so he’s surprised when Louis follows him to his bedroom door. He doesn’t say anything about it until they’re there, and it’s dark enough in the hallway that the detail of Louis’ face is smudged with shadow.

“What’s up?” Zayn asks, opening the door. His bedroom’s barely more than a twin bed and a lamp, but Louis follows him in and sits on the bed, easy like he does everything. Zayn likes Louis in his bed more than he should, even though this isn’t - it’s nothing, nothing they haven’t done a hundred times before. Debriefing; decontamination of the brain. Whatever. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Louis says, and pats the bed in invitation.

“Yeah.” Zayn exhales, low and slow, and eases himself down onto the bed. There’s plenty of space between them now, at least. “I’m okay. It’s just - you were late.” He shrugs, though it’s probably hard to see without the light on. “I worry.”

“Oh. I —“ Louis shifts, a rustle of clothes and bedding. “Sorry. We should have messaged you.”

“It’s protocol,” Zayn reminds him, as gently as he can; it’s a front, and Louis knows it - they’ve never been sticklers with protocol, it’s part of why they work so well together. He presses his hands into his eyes, until they go staticky with it, and waits for Louis to start dissecting him.

But Louis just stands up. “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Zayn hears him take the two steps to the door. “‘Night,” he says, sounding hesitant. 

“Good night,” Zayn says. Then the door clicks shut, and he’s alone at last.

Everything’s fine by the morning. It usually is, in Zayn’s experience. His helpless wanting is at a more normal level, without the threat of possible loss ratcheting it up to level ten, and when Louis smiles at him at breakfast with a mouth full of cornflakes and milk leaks down his chin, it actually looks just as disgusting as it does endearing.

“Gross,” Zayn says, making his way to the toaster.

“You love it.”

That hits him like a brick, right between the shoulder blades. Niall walks in and rescues him, before he says something stupid like, “okay,” or, “yes.”

“I do love it,” Niall says, dipping down to smack a kiss against Louis’ cheek. “Now chew your fucking food, the rest of us want to eat.”

The team suits up and goes out again after breakfast, and the lab is quiet while Zayn slices tissue samples out of yesterday’s find and starts the testing. The routine is complex but comforting; isolating the material, creating the negative stain. It’s what brought him out here, the science - not that he didn’t make it through field training, everybody has to. But the virus has to be monitored, analyzed for adaptation, and that’s where he comes in.

The initial tissue sample looks normal, once he’s got it up with the electron microscope. Some of the other tests take longer, but Zayn doesn’t find anything to worry about: same virion, same protein string, same everything. Whatever happened downtown yesterday was probably an anomaly - a social phenomena, not molecular. Outside of his specialty. Still, it needs to be reported, with his findings from today. 

Filing the reports is a different kind of monotony, but he welcomes it. It’s a distraction that he needs. Louis is becoming a distraction, too, if he’s honest about it. Wasn’t so bad on their first tour, when they were just getting to know each other - or Zayn could pass it off as a crush, then, the easy thrill of someone new. 

He can’t anymore. He’s seen Louis with brains caked in his hair, sleepless and scummy; first thing in the morning, last thing at night. They’ve spent twelve of the last eighteen months together, with only six months off in between tours. Most of that time, they’ve been cramped in a sterile space with nowhere to go to get away from each other, and instead of driving Zayn crazy it’s had the opposite effect. He wants him close, closer. Wants to close the doors to the center and hoard Louis for himself, not give him up to the uncertain work of monitoring a hoard of creatures that would rather see him dead. It’s a problem.

It’s late afternoon by the time he finishes the reports, and the rest of the tests come in -- and so does the team. It’s a little early for the breach alarm to sound, and the release to chime, and the whoosh of the decontamination unit. But it happens sometimes, they get done early; it’s not that odd, even though he’s surprised.

Today the hallway’s quiet, none of the usual banter making its way to the lab. Zayn’s gripping the counter before he realizes he’s doing it, foreboding digging deep into the lining of his stomach. But here they come, jostling through the door, like always: _ eenie, meenie, miney — _

Oh. Oh, _ shit_. Niall’s as pale as Zayn’s ever seen him, and his hands open and close on nothing, and the words stumble out of him before Zayn can even take a breath.

“We can’t find Louis,” Niall says, and looks like he’s going to cry.

For one awful second, Zayn lets the panic swarm through him, lets the static fill his ears and bones. But he’s the senior analyst and his field training wasn’t for nothing, even if his skills are better utilized in the lab. “What happened,” he says, and his voice comes out flat and even.

He pieces the story together, person by person. They went downtown again, when their first patrol came up empty, and it was the same as yesterday, all the infected huddled up by the river. “Just by the footbridge on Second,” Harry says, and his voice is shot, like he’s been yelling for hours. Maybe he has been. “The one that goes to the Japanese garden.”

“It was different than yesterday,” Liam offers. “They weren’t spread out this time. So we got out of the Jeep --”

“You _ what_?” Zayn hears his own voice go high and sharp for a second. Maybe he and Louis aren’t tight on protocol, but it’s basic survival: when faced with a heaving mass of infected, don’t get out of the car.

“We got out,” Niall continues, completely miserable. “They didn’t care at first. Or didn’t notice, anyway. Then a group splintered off, and ran at us, and we got back in the Jeep. Except Louis ran the other way. And by the time we made it around the block to get him --” he stops, helpless.

“He was gone,” Zayn finishes, and the team nods. He doesn’t need to ask, _ did you look for him? _ It’s obvious they looked. “How long ago?”

Harry looks at his watch. “Forty minutes, give or take.”

“Okay, then.” Zayn takes a breath, and starts walking to the gear room. “Time’s wasting.”

Niall volunteers to be the one to go with him, when Zayn’s done suiting up. It’s protocol - half the team stays back, in case the missing one returns, or...or in case none of them do. The other half goes out. No one questions why it’s Zayn gearing up and grabbing the keys to the Jeep. Harry and Liam just watch, eyes wide, something like relief flickering over their faces. Trust, maybe.

Zayn checks his comm unit one more time. “We’ll be back soon,” he says, putting as much optimism in his voice as he can.

“Yeah, man. Watch Louis get back first, right?” Liam exhales and claps his hands on Zayn’s arms. Not quite a hug, but almost.

“Right,” Zayn says. He turns to go, drawing Niall under his arm. “Come on, Nialler, let's get this party started.”

Downtown’s not that far from base camp, just on the other side of Gray’s Lake, but it’s easier to cover more ground by car than by walking, and easier for Louis to spot them if he’s making his way back. Zombies don’t drive, after all. The streets are eerily empty, even for the quarantine zone - normally he’d see at least a few infected, staggering up and down the streets or sidewalks, pulling fish or birds out of Gray’s Lake. Today there’s nothing, and it presses fear into his chest, superheavy, unstable. 

Niall makes a noise like he’s going to say something but doesn’t. That’s all right - Zayn doesn’t have anything worth saying right now. He’s got no reassurances to offer. They cross the river and turn onto Second Ave, and it’s not long before Zayn can see them in the distance, gathered by the river like a flock of unclean birds. Niall looks up and down the side streets as they get closer to the throng but doesn’t see Louis anywhere.

“He’d be crazy to be down there,” Zayn says. “There’s no way.” And maybe he doesn’t know the field like they do, the hiding spots and the ins and outs of where the infected live and stay, but he does know Louis. He turns left, deeper into downtown, and starts making his way through the gridlines. If Louis was unharmed and being chased, he’d just hide somewhere - long enough for the coast to clear and make an easy getaway. And then he’d come home, is the thing. He’d go back to basecamp to debrief, and strategize, and gather the team to go out again if it were necessary.

There’s a ton of buildings downtown: big busted out skyscrapers, empty apartments - Louis could be anywhere, in any one of those buildings. In a CEO’s former office, raiding the sideboard. In an abandoned bedroom, taking a nap. The impossibility of looking for one smallish person in the heart of an entire abandoned city rolls over Zayn, tasting like despair and futility, until the knot in his stomach pushes up into his lungs and he has to fight to breathe. They’ll find him. They have to.

He doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud until Niall agrees.

They’re on High Street, the opposite direction of where he thinks Louis would go, when the call comes through from base.

“He’s here,” Harry’s voice crackles over the speaker. “He’s fine.”

“I’m not fucking _ fine _, Harold.” Zayn can hear Louis in the background for approximately one second, before Niall’s whooping too loud to hear anything, and his own insides turn to water, relief running through his veins instead of blood. He stops the Jeep abruptly in the middle of the road, and lays his head against the steering wheel. 

“Be there in ten,” Niall says, and ends the call.

Zayn’s gulping air and gripping the steering wheel, and Niall puts his hand on the back of Zayn’s neck and lets it rest there, warm and sure, and gives him time. And when he’s ready to go again, easing his foot off the brake and onto the gas, _ easy_, _ easy_, Niall’s careful not to look at him, so he doesn’t have to worry about what his face is doing, and it’s okay. It will be okay. Louis is back, and his lungs can fully inflate again.

The drive back to the center is long enough that Zayn’s got a partial handle on his emotions by the time they’re through the gate. He stops to make sure the gate is secure, _ protocol number three _, and takes an appropriate amount of time parking the Jeep - not too fast, not too slow. His cover might be blown with Niall, but appearances are important. His hands shake on the key fob; Niall doesn’t say anything, but he cuts in front of Zayn to approach the door, so he can enter the release code. 

“You good?” Niall asks, over his shoulder, before he types in the last number.

“I’m good,” Zayn says, and Niall presses the number. What’s the worst that can happen, anyway? Zayn throwing himself into Louis’ arms the moment he sees him, or -- even better -- punching him in the face? It’s a war between the two impulses, and he’s not sure which one will win out as they walk into the airlock and prepare to decontaminate.

What he’s not prepared for is Louis charging into the airlock, face bright with anger, Liam and Harry trailing reluctantly behind.

“What the fuck, Zayn?” Louis pushes past Niall and gets right in Zayn’s face. He’s got a cut over one eyebrow that doesn’t look that deep, it’s already scabbing over, and all of his eyelashes appear to be in place, and Zayn’s knees might actually give out. “What were you thinking?”

Zayn blinks. “What the fuck was _ I _ thinking? I’m not the one who let a rookie fucking team get out of the fucking Jeep, am I? Was that me?” Zayn looks around the room, just to be a dick - Niall is shepherding Harry and Liam towards the door, into the building proper. He’s wise; they don’t need to see the massive row that’s about to go down. “Nope, wasn’t me,” Zayn says. 

Louis takes a step closer, so close Zayn can almost feel Louis’ ragged inhale in his own chest. “You’re not supposed to go into the field,” he says, low and angry. “You’re supposed to stay here, so I know where the fuck you are.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Zayn says, almost too pissed off to notice how good Louis looks when he’s angry, cheeks flushed and mouth spitting words. He’s got a streak of dirt on his neck and Zayn wants to touch it, put his mouth on it. “Worry about yourself, since you’ve apparently got shit for brains, all of a sudden --”

“Oh, fuck you,” Louis says, and puts a hand on the back of Zayn’s neck, and kisses him.

It takes a second to sink in. Louis is kissing him, chapped lips fitting to his own like he knows just what to do, and it’s. Zayn makes a noise and presses closer and swipes his tongue against Louis’ bottom lip and then Louis is kissing him, for real, licking into his mouth like a starving person. Zayn might actually die -- it might be too good for him to actually continue living, the way Louis manhandles him back against the wall and sucks on his neck, and sneaks his leg between Zayn’s so Zayn has something to press against and --

“Louis,” Zayn groans, as Louis makes his way down Zayn’s throat, as much as he can with Zayn still in full gear.

Louis lifts his head and stares at him, mouth red already like they’ve been kissing for an hour. “Hey,” he says, panting up into Zayn’s face, and it’s a waste of time, when they could be kissing again. A smile starts to tilt the edge of his mouth, though. “Want to take this somewhere--”

Louis’ cut off by a familiar hiss, and the decontaminant spray rolls over them, pungent and thick. He closes his eyes as Zayn starts laughing, brings his laugh down to Louis’ mouth.

“Fucking Harry,” Louis mutters against Zayn’s lips.

Zayn sighs, and digs his fingers into Louis’ hair, and settles in. They’ve got two more minutes until this decontamination cycle is over; four hundred and thirty-seven minutes, give or take, until tomorrow; just over thirty-thousand minutes until this tour is done, if his mental math is correct. It’s all possibility, for once.

  
  


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